


Never Say Die

by freedom90



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:09:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedom90/pseuds/freedom90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis will take care of everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Say Die

"Louis!"  
  
Zayn glances over his shoulder, curious, but can't decide which one of the guys is hissing from the dark abyss of the bunk area. He's bathed in blue light from the DVD he's not quite watching, crumpled over the sofa with his head against a pillow that's too firm for his languor. The bus hits a sudden bump and his neck jerks.   
  
Zayn can make out Louis' bright red bum and the backs of his dirty, bare feet hanging out of Harry's bed where he's holding the curtain open. His body makes like he's about to get out, then it stops. He goes through this motion several times.   
  
"Louis!"  
  
Zayn shakes his head, disappointed. It's definitely Liam because there's no Irish twang at the end of the word and Liam tends to draw out his vowels, only when he's upset. Niall is probably asleep anyway, considering how drugged up he is. Zayn swipes at his nose with the back of his hand and sniffles, reaching for a tissue. 

  
  
Everyone in the band is sick.  _Almost_  everyone, anyway.

Louis caught the cold first and he made it look easy, spinning his wheels day and night to prove to everyone that he was okay, he didn't need anyone's help, he didn't need a break. He'd cough through his declarations of how _surprisingly good_  he was feeling, already on his way out the door. Louis has no issue being put out by something he's done to himself - like getting completely trashed the night before. But he won't be beaten by something he has no control over.   
  
They suppose he should have taken a break, spent some time alone in his hotel bed, because he spread the bug around in no time and now he feels an awful kind of guilty; the kind that causes him to overcompensate.

  
  
Between the cough syrup and the brain fog of his suffering, Zayn's floating on another planet now. Flicking off the DVD, he turns onto his side to try and sleep, but stares straight ahead, fascinated. Louis is hanging halfway out of Harry's bed, with one foot and his head poking into Liam's. He's holding a bag of throat lozenges and demanding loudly that the two of them take some.   
  
"Haven't you got a different flavor?" Liam whines, making a stinkface.  
  
Louis sighs dramatically, slumps, and turns toward Zayn and the lounge, a frown line between his eyebrows. He's naturally a mother hen, rolls his eyes when they tease him about it, but he looks overwhelmed now, even more than when he was the sick one. His hair's in a bird’s nest, swooping over both his eyes, and he's hunched over so far that his belly sticks out cutely. Zayn's eyes follow him with pity as he shuffles over, rifling through several plastic bags full of little boxes and rattling pills around.   
  
"Louis!"  
  
Zayn scowls at the bunks. It's Niall this time.   
  
Louis stops searching and puts his hands on his hips, his gaze moving to pass over Zayn. "Babe, have you seen that bag of cherry cough drops? Are you alright?" He stares, disgusted. "You're all flushed and sweaty and I thought you said you'd been feeling better, man!" he babbles, crestfallen, laying a hand over Zayn's forehead.   
  
"Oh stop, I'm good," Zayn barely manages because he's mostly lost his voice. He has two days to get it back before their next show, a fact they've all chosen to ignore. He bats Louis' hand away when it comes down to ruffle his hair affectionately. It's already a mess and he doesn't care, but Zayn doesn't like being touched when he's ill. It feels like suffocating.   
  
Zayn reaches down sideways with a pathetic groan and opens the drawer underneath the sofa he's on, pulling out the dark red plastic bag. Louis smiles blithely, yanks it from Zayn's hand and skips off back to Liam and Harry, and he supposes Niall, too. There's that energy.   
  
  
Zayn’s even more light-headed now that he’s sat up too quickly and he could pass out, and it would be good. His head sinks. He should go climb into his bunk but he hears a lot of whining from that general direction. At least it’s getting quieter and quieter.

  
  
~~

  
  
“Zayn.”   
  
Zayn’s brain flickers on with a spark and it feels like it’s trying to break out of his skull. He shifts slightly toward the direction of the whisper and whimpers from the pressure it puts on his sinuses. It’s been what, a half hour? Twenty minutes?  
  
“Come on, babe.”  
  
Fingers grab at  his shoulders softly, firmly, and pull. Zayn is all dead weight and unhelpfulness. He shakes his head imperceptibly and a “no” squeaks out from the part of his diaphragm that still functions.   
  
The terrible mystery person finally heaves him up from under his arms and hauls him over the sofa cushion. Zayn’s legs crash to the floor, waking him up all the way.  
  
“Oi!”  
  
“Gotta get you to bed,” Louis murmurs sweetly, and it sounds a lot like Zayn’s mum, and now he kinda wants to ask Louis for soup but he  _won’t_  let himself.  
  
“I was sleeping, Lou,” he groans as he’s dragged along the hallway amidst the sounds of coughs and heavy mouth-breathing. Harry is snoring loudly, of course. Zayn’s bed is an upper bunk and he’d like to see how Louis plans on getting him up there in this state.   
  
Rolling his eyes, Zayn takes mercy on Louis and sets his feet on the floor, grabbing a curtain and hoisting himself upright. Predictably, the curtain goes ahead and slides halfway open. Catching Harry’s dozing, open-mouthed face, Zayn loses his balance and slips back into Louis’ arms with an “Oompf.” Harry's roused from his sleep, his reddened eyes meeting Zayn's. Harry, who nearly escaped the virus, is visibly unhappy and Zayn can see why. His hair is matted to his forehead, his eyebrows are furrowed and he’s absolutely white, and Zayn can only imagine what  _he_  looks like right now. Harry clears his throat, wet with phlegm, and turns his head over, facing the open window in the corner of his bed. Harry never opens his window. None of them do except Zayn.   
  
Zayn hears a muffled “Fuck off.”   
  
“Need anything, Harry?” Louis asks in his highest, most accommodating voice, and Zayn can feel his body tensing and perking up at the same time, his fingers tightening on the insides of Zayn’s elbows. Zayn can’t move because he’s used up all his strength and Louis seems content to let him rest. His feet are getting cold from the threadbare carpet of the bus. He should be wearing socks, he thinks as he lays his head back against Louis’ chest.  
  
“M’fine,” Harry croaks, then turns over again before Louis can get away. “Oh, I want some juice, I think. I need my fluids, yeah?”  
  
“Right,” Louis replies cheerfully. Zayn almost scoffs but Harry has an eye on him. Hopefully he gets put to bed before this juice situation becomes too much of a priority.

“What about you, Zayn, what do you need?” Louis wonders, pulling Zayn the rest of the way to his bunk. He leans over to pick up Zayn by his legs.  
  
“Sleep. Just let me do it.” Zayn shoos at Louis and grabs at the slab of wood below his bed, puts a foot on Niall’s mattress and, letting out a grunt, pushes with everything he has. All at once he’s surrounded by downy softness and darkness and his bunk has never felt so cozy. He's made it. He throws his window open and takes a deep breath. Burying his face in his pillow, he’s prepared to pass out again but his senses tell him Louis is still standing right there. Zayn sighs and turns his face a bit, side-eyeing Louis.   
  
“Want some juice, too? I could rub some of that smelly goo on your chest?” Louis proposes eagerly.   
  
He’s  _obsessed_.   
  
“For fuck’s sake, Louis! Leave me alone! Go to bed!” Zayn growls, grabs his curtain and slides it shut loud enough to wake everyone, bumping his head on the ceiling in the process.  
  
There’s a pause while Zayn lies back down. He can barely make out the white of Louis’ t-shirt in the space beneath his curtain. He’s expecting some sort of angry reaction. Actually, he thinks as he rubs on his head tenderly, he wants one.   
  
“Sleep well, then!” Louis says, not a hint of aggression in his tone. Zayn hears Louis kiss his own hand before it sneaks in and pats Zayn’s cheek. Zayn means to allow it, he feels bad now, but Louis takes it back and walks away quickly, almost shyly.  
  
Zayn can’t hear Louis rattling around in the kitchen a few minutes later but he can imagine it, and he does so while he lies awake. He listens to Louis chattering at Harry while he uses the chest rub on himself, slowly learning to breathe again. He thinks it actually would have been nice to have Louis do it. Soon he can hear Liam and Niall’s polite demands and Louis’ flat-footed gait moving back and forth across the bus, punctuated by hollers from Harry.   
  
Zayn wants to grab Louis’ elbow and pull him in and tell him to  _stop letting the boys take advantage of you. It’s not fair; you didn’t get them sick on purpose. Everyone could have avoided crawling all over you as usual. You need rest, too. You’re not a hundred percent yet._    
  
But he’s out there walking with a purpose because this is when Louis thrives, and Zayn knows that deep down. He gets why Louis is like this; the way he is at home with his sisters, always helping out with his mother, being there for his loved ones before anyone can think to ask. If someone needs to be teased, he's the one to do it. He'll cause trouble if it means enegerizing the boys. Feeling needed and appreciated is what motivates him. Louis is needed, very much, but times like these he’ll just push, looking for some kind of reassurance, and the guys are all growing up. Zayn would feel guilty if he enabled him. Maybe he could just  _tell_  Louis how important he is. How scary for Zayn, though, knowing how much he actually needs him, and all of them.   
  
Zayn lets himself smile, listening to Louis sing an improvised lullaby to Niall below him. Niall even joins in softly for the last verse. Finally, there’s quiet, and all Zayn hears is the white noise of the engine, the breeze coming in through the window. He doesn't want to know how late it is and won’t check his phone. He can't remember where he left it, anyway. There’s nothing to do tomorrow until the afternoon and he’s looking forward to sleeping until then, maybe waking up healed. Stretching his legs, he settles deeper into his mattress and lets out a satisfied yawn, and then Louis’ face appears.  
  
He’s opened the curtain quietly, content to stare at Zayn until Zayn looks back at him. Louis jumps a bit.   
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Louis,” Zayn starts, finding his words.  
  
“I just wanted to make sure you were breathing,” Louis says slowly, sincerely. Zayn can only stare and sigh because it’s so fucking  _sweet_. Louis raises his hand then, offering Zayn a rolled up pair of clean, red socks. It looks like the pair Niall’s mum knitted for him last Christmas, his absolute favorite. Zayn grabs them.  _Bless_  Louis.  
  
“I am,” Zayn whispers through a half-smile, and Louis purses his lips fondly and turns to leave him, but Zayn grabs his arm. Louis turns back, raising an eyebrow, and Zayn can see the hopeful sparkle in his eye. “Maybe a cuddle?” Zayn asks, giving his best puppy eyes.   
  
Louis doesn’t react for a moment. He knows Zayn doesn’t like to be touched when he’s sick. But eventually his lips curl up on each end, the corners of his tired eyes starting to crinkle.   
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Zayn scoots over and lets Louis climb into his cramped little corner of the bus, knees and elbows flying everywhere, all smiles. Zayn has to smile, too as Louis grabs him tightly, turning him over to spoon, his chin jabbing at Zayn’s shoulder until it finds a space it'll fit into. Zayn already feels uncomfortably hot and claustrophobic, but he keeps breathing in the mixture of fresh air and gas fumes that flow through the window screen in front of him. He keeps the rolled up socks in his hands for now, squeezing. Comforted by Louis’ lips resting on the back of his aching neck, he lets his eyes slip closed.   
  
He can humor Louis, just this once. Maybe a couple times. Louis needs him, too.   
  
“Harry’s the worst sick person in the whole world,” Louis mumbles and Zayn chuckles. Harry’s actually kind of the best.  
  
“We’ll get him good when I’m up for it?” he offers. He feels Louis smile again, nuzzling him, taking a huge breath and then letting out the deepest of sighs. Zayn’s hairs stand up and as he digs under the mattress to grab a tissue hidden there, he feels Louis’ body go lax.   
  
  
It’s unlikely Zayn will feel much better when he wakes up, but he’s hopeful Louis’ homesickness will pass.


End file.
